in the dark
by reysoloos
Summary: After Crait, Rey struggles with hard truths and the pull she still feels to the dark. She clutches at broken things: a cracked lightsaber, the pieces of the Resistance, the bond between her and Kylo that is now hanging by a thread. (post TLJ; the Rebels keep going, in spite of the odds. And Rey learns how easily the shape of their futures can change.)
1. Chapter 1

In the dark, there is discovery,  
there is possibility, there is freedom in the dark  
once someone has illuminated it

* * *

With the planet Crait so far behind them, the sheer relief aboard _the Falcon_ is palpable. Rey can sense it all—clear and sharp, as if they are her own feelings. They might as well be. It washes in suddenly, a wave of joy and sorrow mingling together. These might be fleeting emotions, but Rey is aware of them all the same. It's impossible _not_ to be aware of them. Even without needing to deliberately reach out, Rey can feel all of it.

Leia's grief is so quiet underneath it all, gentle and calm and almost drowned out entirely by Chewie's nervous energy that keeps pinging around inside Rey's brain. It almost brings a smile to her lips when she realizes why the Wookiee is so nervous: he's worried about his birds. There are so many of them scattered throughout _the Falcon_ , and at least half a dozen gathered in the cockpit of the ship, poking into things they probably shouldn't be getting into. Rey thinks about offering to fly—it might help, to keep her mind busy by piloting the ship, keep her thoughts elsewhere, away from him—but she knows that if Chewie doesn't protest that idea, Leia certainly will. It wouldn't work, not with her head so clouded.

It's the worst with Finn, she thinks.

That prickle of fear slowly gnawing away at his insides, and the constant jabs of uncertainty. It's only after he rummages through several compartments and locates a blanket for the unconscious girl (Rose, her mind supplies the name) that something inside of him seems to grow noticeably calmer. Rey wonders if that's her doing. She's unsure of herself, but whether she's the reason for it or not doesn't really matter. All that matters is Finn's not completely torn up inside, no, there's still a part of him clinging onto hope. She sits and watches them together, with unfamiliar feelings stirring awake inside of her.

He cares about Rose, that much is obvious not just from the concern radiating off of him but from the way he's looking at her now, a crease between his brows and a far-off look on his face.

Rey doesn't think she's ever seen him so still. So quiet, and unsure of himself. One of his hands is resting on the blanket. And Rey wants to go to him, she does. But she doesn't know what to say. There are too many words and yet, not enough. She'd probably end up saying the wrong thing. In the end she doesn't move from her spot next to Leia. She can't.

Somehow, the lightsaber in her hands feels heavier now that it's been split in two. Her eyes sting when she starts to think about _—no,_ she won't let herself. Rey closes her fists around the two halves and wonders if there's a way to mend it, a way back. She's good at this, knows how to look at the broken parts and fix it, tinker away until it's as good as new. Living on Jakku taught her that much, at least.

She knows how to put the pieces all back together. She _knows._ But this time, she feels less sure of herself. Less certain that she knows what to look for. That doesn't sit well with Rey. Usually, she knows what to salvage, what parts can be repurposed and sold off for rations.

It's all so different now.

"Do you think he's—" Rey cuts herself off abruptly, unsure of where she was going with that. Luke's gone. So is Ben Solo, and Rey can see that clearly now.

She's certain Leia can guess her thoughts anyway.

Without even needing to ask, she knows. When Rey lifts her head, there's this look in Leia's eyes (sad, warm, full of anguish) that makes Rey's chest tighten, makes her regret ever opening her mouth. It's not her place to ask, and it's certainly not the time for it.

"I think," Leia begins, a wry twist to her lips. "I think this was what had to happen. Now we move forward. We try again."

 _But how?_

Rey worries her bottom lip between her teeth. She's vibrating with uncertainty, unable to sit still, her fingers curling and uncurling around the split lightsaber. Leia touches her arm.

"We've got all we need, right here."

That quiet grief lingers at the corners of Leia's eyes, but then she smiles, and something warm and soothing washes over Rey. Hope, maybe. Just enough. It doesn't erase that sadness though, still touching the General's smile. She's thinking about Ben, too. Luke and Han, and the bright red salt on Crait. Rey's thinking of golden dice clutched in black leather gloves, shiny and delicate in his palm.

A glimpse, and nothing more. Rey won't prod any further beyond that. Not now, after they've already lost so much. It's a private thing, she thinks, all that pain. Leia's lost a son, a husband, a brother. And yet she's still here, still giving everything she has left to the Resistance. There's so much sorrow. Rey feels it, too.

She hadn't thought she would.

When they touched hands, the shape of his future had been so clear and vivid. So bright. Familiar, too, as if it also belonged to her.

It wasn't supposed to go this way. Luke had warned her, of course, but she wouldn't listen. She thought she knew Ben, when she didn't. She couldn't, not when he refused to let her know him. Not when he insisted on going down a path she couldn't follow. They were supposed to find balance _together_. Now, though, there might as well be a gaping crevice split wide open between them, black and endless. That thought settles uncomfortably in Rey's stomach. For a long, long moment, she can't move. Not even after Leia does. She holds the pieces of Master Luke's lightsaber in her hands and wants nothing more in that moment than to be back on Ahch-To.

Back in the torrential rain. In the cold, dry-stone huts dotted along the cliffs. Back with Luke.

There's no going back, she knows that.

 _Peaceful._ The word lingers on the fringe of Rey's mind. It gets under her skin, makes her stomach twist. She bites down on the inside of her mouth, hard, and tries not to think about it. It's inevitable, really, the loss so raw in her mind. She had felt it: the moment Luke passed on and became one with the Force. She can't put words to it beyond that, not yet anyway. She's exhausted and filthy and confused, skin covered in scrapes and bruises. The slash on her upper arm stings faintly, but it's her head that hurts the most; the pain throbs and pulses in her skull, a dull pounding that makes Rey clench her teeth together. It makes her feel sick. Rey pushes herself up and heads for her cabin, eager to scrub herself clean and pull her hair loose from its tight knot.

She passes by Poe again (she's never met someone with such a kind face) and a small gathering of Rebels. That's when she realizes: this is all that's left of them, here in this room. _We're all there is._ Rey swallows thickly. Maybe if she'd gotten back sooner, there would be more left to salvage. The survivors are few in number, a handful of pilots and techs and sea birds, but at least there are survivors. Rey consoles herself with that, even if it isn't much.

Poe's crouched down on the ground in front of BB-8. He rubs affectionately at what Rey assumes would be the back of BB-8's neck, if the droid had one. The beeps and whirs trickling out of the droid are sweet, blissful. Rey feels a smile tug at the corners of her mouth, unbidden.

"I know, buddy." Poe says. "I know. You didn't steal the ship. Finn told me what happened."

She wonders what that's about, but doesn't ask.

It's probably best she doesn't. Maybe she'll go to Finn later, see how he is, ask about Canto Bight.

BB-8 chirps after Rey, head unit swiveling around to watch her leave. She gives them a small smile then keeps walking, refusing to look back. She can feel eyes on her, following her as she goes, and she's not ready. Not ready to become whatever it is they think she is. The first thing Rey does when she reaches her room is stuff the halves of the lightsaber into one of her packs, tucking the bag underneath her bunk. It's safe there, until she figures out what to do with it.

Perched on the edge of the bed, Rey draws in a shaky breath. She'll grab her things and go to the 'fresher down the corridor in a moment. For now, she tries to clear her thoughts. He still crosses her mind, even now. _Especially now._ She thinks of him and sees flashes of red; she sees an island, his hand reaching for hers, a fleet of doomed Rebels, plumes of red dust on Crait.

This went the way it was always going to go. The way Master Luke knew it would. But that doesn't make it sting any less.

When he'd appeared before her, kneeling on the ground inside the base, she had felt it again. Ben—no, not Ben, _Kylo_ —seeking her out. That thrum of curiousity. A quiet pulse of energy, then she saw him. Rey had felt a twinge of _something_ , plucking at her insides, stirring awake. His head had snapped up, wide-eyed and surprised to see her standing before him.

He hadn't concealed his surroundings. He was on Crait, crouched down on the floor of the Rebel base, clutching limply at Han Solo's dice.

And his eyes, they'd been so—

Rey shakes her head, refusing to think about that either. She doesn't care. It doesn't matter, not anymore. So, the Force-bond wasn't entirely Snoke's doing. It still exists between them. But if Rey could resist it once, she can do it again. She _will_ do it. There's no other choice now. If she feels him there, feels his presence, then she'll shut him out. It'll hurt less this way, she tells herself, knowing there's nothing else she can do.

* * *

The 'fresher is small and modest, but more grand than anything she'd ever had on Jakku. Rey's still not used to it. The gray and brown shades of the room aren't all that different in color from the walls of the old AT-AT she'd made a home in. Once she's alone, and the door slides shut behind her, Rey releases a breath she didn't even realize she was holding in.

It all seems so long ago now.

Her home on the sand. The toppled AT-AT walker near the outskirts of the Graveyard. She's made a home from nothing once before, she can do it again. She has to do it. That life is lost to her now, left in the desert.

Locking the door behind her, she steps further into the room. The 'fresher compartment is well-maintained, with a faucet and sink, and even a sanitizer.

Rey undresses slowly, starting with her belt, the cuff on her right arm. She unwinds her arm wraps, letting the pieces of fabric drop to the floor of the 'fresher. Tired, sore, cold. _Angry._ The emotions flicker by too quickly to pin a single one down. Rey fiddles with the taps at the sink, running her hands under the stream of cold water. There's a narrow cubicle tucked into the corner of the room, if she wants to bathe and not just wipe away the dirt and blood spattered across her skin with a damp cloth, as she was so used to doing on Jakku. She shuts her eyes and grips the edge of the sink with both hands. That dull, throbbing pain strikes again, and Rey winces from the sharpness of it.

That pain—she remembers screaming, remembers Snoke's presence seeping into every crack and crevice of her mind, thick and suffocating. He pried into lost memories and hidden thoughts. Things she tried to keep secret. And he'd smothered any attempts at resistance, cracking her mind open until she gave him exactly what he wanted. He'd found the island easily, and her mind is still tender from the exertion.

 _Let the past die._

Rey's eyes snap open. He isn't here, she's sure of that. He's not in her head. This doesn't feel like their bond did before, no, it's not that. Just a memory, rolling over her slowly. She hasn't really thought about it, about him and his dark eyes and the way his hand had been reaching out for hers, until now. And even now, Rey's determined to think of something else, anything else but this.

It's quieter in here, away from noisy thoughts and those screeching sea birds.

Narrowing her eyes at the reflection in the mirror before her, the girl from nowhere staring back at her, Rey tilts her head to the side. She wonders if he's trying to reach out through the Force. She wonders what she'll do if he tries.

She inches closer and examines the bruise forming on her temple, brushing the stray hairs back from her face and stretching closer to the mirror; the surface is dirty and cloudy in places, but Rey can still see it. The bruise stands out, a deep purple-black against her pale skin. She doesn't remember how she got it. Maybe it was when the lightsaber split and threw them apart. Lifting a hand to the spot on her right arm, Rey winces. _That,_ she remembers. A wave of guards clad in red robes and armor, and Kylo behind her, pressed back to back. The cut reminds her of him, of the mark she'd left on his skin, creeping out from under the collar of his tunic. A jagged, ugly red gash, spanning from jaw bone all the way up to his forehead.

It was such a different thing: seeing him in her dreams, then through their Force-connection, then at last in the flesh. Somehow, he never looked the same. The scar along his cheek looked thinner than she thought it would.

There's a burst of noise outside the 'fresher, passing voices that fade quickly enough, that reminds Rey she probably isn't the only one who needs to wash. Cupping her hands under the tap, she brings the water to her lips and drinks deeply, desperately, swallowing down the cool liquid until her belly is fully of it and her throat is no longer dry. She splashes some of the water on her face before switching both faucet taps off.

The string that keeps the top half of her hair swept back from her face suddenly feels too tight. Rey picks at it with blunt nails until it starts to give, then unties it, shaking her hair loose. Her scalp itches. A little standard-issue shampoo should help with that. Rey runs her fingers through her hair, smoothing out the tangles. There's a small built-in shelf on the wall to her right. Rey runs her fingers along the bottles lined up there, picking the one she recognizes as shampoo.

Then she realizes she's still got her boots on.

Rey struggles with them for a moment. The boots are probably a size too small. She really has to pry them off her feet. Eventually, she gets them off and sets them aside, lined up neatly. It wasn't like she had much of a choice back on Jakku. These are the only good pair of shoes she's ever owned, it's not like she can exactly throw them away. The rest of her clothes end up in a messy pile (tunic, wraps, underthings) sitting atop one of her bags on the floor. There's a towel shoved in there somewhere. She goes to the narrow cubicle, the tiled floor cold under her bare, blistered feet. Soon enough, the room is filled with steam. Rey closes her eyes against the spray of water, cherishing the warmth and the quiet. She dips her head under the steady stream. The heat helps her ice-cold bones feel a little less icy, and soothes her stiff joints.

Keeping her head under the jets, Rey opens her eyes and watches water and dirt swirl down the drain. With the water spilling down all around her face, getting in her eyes, it reminds her of that storm on Ahch-To.

The first time she'd ever seen—or felt—rain.

Her skin quickly turns red and blotchy in places from the stinging hot water, but her head is clearer now than it had been before, so she doesn't mind. There's always a spark of excitement when she uses the shower, a luxury she never had on Jakku. This time, it feels different. The sensation dulled, maybe. But that memory of Ahch-To is clear and bright, and has her smiling.

It doesn't last, slipping off her face when she hears his voice.

 _Rey._

She sucks in a sharp breath, stunned.

This isn't their bond, of that much she's certain. Maybe it's a memory; the way he'd said her name after Snoke was dead and his red guards were scattered all around them. Or maybe he's really there, seeking her out, and her name is a whisper on his lips. Rey flattens a hand against the tiled wall in front of her, bracing herself.

Her hair is sopping wet, and dark strands hang down in front of her face, sticking to her forehead in places. The water trickles down her skin like drops of rain.

 _Don't,_ she thinks. Half a warning, half a plea.

There's no sudden shift. The air isn't sucked from her lungs. The noise doesn't fade away, leaving only him and her and the invisible string between them. He's not here. It isn't the Force, or Snoke bridging their minds. But he is thinking about her. Rey visibly recoils when he says her name a second time, so quietly she almost misses it.

 _Rey._

This time, it sounds like a question.

He's reaching for her.

She has her own questions, of course. Things she wants to know. There's so much she wants to say to him: _you should have come with me. I don't understand. Why couldn't you just—_

Rey shuts off the water abruptly. The hot water is gone, nothing left but thick plumes of steam filling the air around her. She blinks rapidly, wiping at her eyes and brushing wet hair back off her face. There are things she needs to know. He spared her, let her leave Crait when he could've tried to stop them, but he didn't. He let her go and Rey can't help but wonder why.

But she can't risk it. She can't have him inside her head again. Rey waits but there's nothing else, only the sound of water gurgling down the drain.

* * *

She's glad to be rid of her dirt-crusted tunic.

It had felt too tight, clinging to her skin unpleasantly. Rey strings up a makeshift line in her room and hangs her damp clothes out to dry. She'd scrubbed the tunic clean in the 'fresher, determined to wash away the smell of salt water and sweat and _him._ Rey's dressed now in a plain white undershirt and gray mid-calf length pants. She sits cross-legged on the ground and rifles through the bag she'd taken with her. It's practically bursting open with her cloak and belt and bracer all stuffed in there. She's glad to be clean, finally, no traces of the battle left on her skin.

A dim light hangs overhead, casting a muted white glow over the room and painting shadows on the walls. Rey searches for the books she's certain are sitting at the bottom of the—

 _Oh._

The books and scrolls are stashed out in the main hold, tucked away safely in a utility drawer.

Right. Well, she's not going back out there anytime soon, not even for the Sacred Texts. After she bathed, Rey had paused in the corridor outside her room and listened to the voices, the quiet chatter wafting down towards her. It would've been so easy to join them, to sit and eat and talk, but she needs time. Time to rest, time to process, to let herself feel the weight of it all. Or not. She's not sure what she wants.

Her stomach clenches at the thought of food.

Sitting with them would mean eating and talking, and Rey's not feeling up to doing either of those things right now, not after Kylo. She doesn't mind being alone. Sometimes, it's better this way. Maybe that's why she'd been so reluctant to sleep in the crew quarters and claim a bunk as her own. It seemed so unappealing, and odd. She's lived alone for most of her life. Then suddenly, she was less alone, thrust into the middle of something much bigger than herself.

But she still can't go out there.

Rey can't face them, not when they insist on looking at her so expectantly, as if she's their last hope. _Hope._ It's all they have left to cling to. She can't sit with Finn and lie through her teeth, say that everything's fine when it really isn't. She won't lie to them, but how does she even begin to tell them the truth of it all? The truth being: _I saw something inside of him, I saw something good, I wanted to save him. I couldn't. It wasn't enough._

She needs time to process, to figure out what she'll tell them. Not just about her time on the island, but about Ben. Leia deserves to know, doesn't she? Rey's not sure they'll understand. With Master Luke's lightsaber torn in half, she can't help but feel like she's failed them both.

The ground is cold and hard beneath her, so she moves to the bed, sitting on the edge of it for a long moment. Her room is small and dark, but it's hers. She picked it. A narrow cot is pressed up against the far wall, and there's little in the way of personal belongings (she'd never had much, apart from a doll and a helmet and jars full of flowers) but she doesn't need much.

An empty crate sits next to her cot and Rey briefly considers emptying the contents of her bags into it, but it's just not practical. Not with the First Order after them. Not if she needs to flee and grab her things. She won't have time to stop and fill her bags.

Flopping down onto the bed with a sigh, Rey blinks up at the exposed pipes running across the ceiling. This was a storage room once, full of buckets and crates and mechanical gear. She's not surprised in the least; the interior corridors are littered with all sorts of tech and gear. It reminds her faintly of home on Jakku, of all the bits and pieces she'd collected over the years, worthless scraps of gear and junk she couldn't sell. Things that made the space feel more like hers. Rey closes her eyes and wills that memory away.

She searches for tranquility, and something stable to grasp onto. It won't be easy to drift to sleep, she knows, but she has to try. A kind of bone-deep exhaustion has settled heavily upon her. Rey hasn't felt this tired in years. She squeezes her eyes shut tighter until the cold, soft blackness of sleep returns.

* * *

She can taste dirt and sand on her tongue. There's a tight, bruising grip on her arm, and hot sun beating down on her skin. Rey squirms against it, but Unkar won't release her. She knows that it's impossible to wriggle free. She still screams for them, tears welling in her eyes.

A ship speeds off into the clouds, putting more and more distance between them. It's gone before she can blink.

Before she can chase after it.

She imagines, for a moment, that her father is Master Luke (with his kind eyes, and his sad smile, the way he looked at her—pity, maybe, Rey's not sure.) She imagines that it could've been Han Solo, even. She pretends that they're still coming back for her. It's foolish, she knows. But that doesn't stop the wound from aching when she watches the ship fly away again.

The sand shifts beneath her and Rey loses her footing. Her arm slips out of Unkar's grasp and then she's falling into the cave on Ahch-To, down into the sunken hole deep within the base of the island, dark and cold. Rey's lungs fill with icy water. She knows how to swim. She doesn't remember how she knows, it's an instinct her body remembers. The skill isn't lost. Yet her limbs grow stiff and refuse to cooperate. There's a flash of light far above the surface of the water, like a star darting across the galaxy. Rey sinks down deeper, unable to reach it.

Just when her vision starts to blur and blacken at the edges, she's thrust upwards. It's too bright at first, and _hot,_ uncomfortably so. Rey winces against the sudden intrusion of light and shields her eyes from it.

It doesn't last. The light fades. The water drains out of the room. And Rey's left sitting by the fire in a stone hut on Ahch-To, the very same one Luke destroyed. Except it isn't a pile of rubble. It's exactly how it was before she and Ben touched hands. Before Luke. Rey's eyes widen, surprised to be back here so soon, even in a dream. It's not a memory. Ben isn't here, sitting by the crackling fire beside her with a kind look in his dark eyes. She's alone. Impossibly alone. Rey sits there for a long moment. Her fingers clutch numbly at the blanket draped around her shoulders as she waits. For what, she doesn't know. But she still waits. The water from the cave is dripping from her. She wonders if it's raining outside. It's _always_ raining here, she thinks, pulling the blanket tighter around her.

The warmth of the fire helps, taking away some of the chill in her bones.

Rey eyes off the door to the hut. It's odd, being here when he isn't. When neither of them are. She leaves the blanket to dry and steps out into the rain. There's no muddy, wet ground beneath her feet. No rain. There's no ground at all, Rey realizes, staggering backwards. She's standing on the bridge above Starkiller Base's reactor, surrounded by red.

And he's there.

Of course he is. Rey's breath catches in her throat. He's there, watching her. Waiting for her.

A gloved hand reaches out across the distance—

He's Kylo Ren, clad in a mask and flowing robes. Rey would reach for a weapon if she had one on her. She'd shoot, maybe, if there was a blaster holstered on her hip. Anger spikes up in her veins, makes her want to do something rash, just like he always does.

It's too much, flooding her senses. She sees a glimpse of the island, so far away from her now that it feels more like a dream. There's a flash of blue. Her hands, red like the salt on Crait, red like his lightsaber plunged through Han Solo's chest. The green on Takodana. Hills of sand and a dozen masked scavengers on Jakku. She sees Kylo, his face in the lift and the rasp of his voice. The betrayal in his eyes as the Star Dreadnought ripped itself apart and she reached for the lightsaber instead of his hand.

 _Ben._

She can hear herself saying his name, pleading with him.

Rey glances up and she's back on the bridge again, unarmed. The base trembles fiercely all around them, rattling her bones. That same gloved hand is stretched out towards her. Rey's fingers twitch by her side. He wants to kill everything, and she _can't._ She won't.

The crackle of his lightsaber fills her ears and Rey jolts awake, struggling to catch her breath. She's in her room, at least. Not stranded in the desert and not on Luke's island. This isn't another dream—or vision—or whatever that was. The sheets are bunched up, tangled around her ankles. Rey shifts, curling further in on herself. There's so much of it, flitting through her head, thoughts she can't let go of, can't pin down. She squeezes her eyes shut and drags her knees closer to her chest. She doesn't know why she's crying again.

This is real.

She's on _the Falcon,_ speeding through nowhere. This isn't false. It takes her a long minute to really believe that. Her breath comes out in short, ragged puffs. Then it's as if the air is sucked out of the room, and she can't hear the quiet footsteps passing down the corridor, can't hear the sound of her own labored breathing. She can feel it, that _thing_ that ties them together, stirring to life. Rey instinctively scrambles for the nearest weapon: Han's blaster. She's slow to arm herself, but at least she isn't leaving herself open and vulnerable. She curls her fingers tight around it.

The weight of it feels odd and clunky in her hand at first, and it takes a moment to adjust. Maybe she's grown too used to a lightsaber in her hand.

Inching her way off the bed, she listens for his voice, not knowing what to expect. She's half tempted to fire a shot off at him now, hoping that it might end the connection. But it did nothing that day on the island. He didn't seem to feel it, as if the bolt simply disappeared into the air between them. Rey still aims the blaster into the dark. Even though she wants to, she can't bring herself to go through with it. She won't risk injuring someone else just for a chance to make a point. That surprises her: how much she wants to hurt him, and how much she doesn't. She's still holding back, even now. He must be able to sense that in her.

"Is this you?" she asks, accusatory.

Her voice comes out quieter than she would've liked. There's no response. For a second, Rey's left wondering if he's really there at all or if she's still asleep. If this is another dream, then she would really like to wake up now.

Rey keeps a tight grip on the blaster, not willing to take any chances.

Maybe it'll pass and he'll leave her be. But even as that thought crosses her mind, she knows it's unlikely. It isn't something they can control, not yet. She's determined to find a way out of it. There has to be something she can do to break it. Rey swallows thickly over the lump in her throat, a finger hovering over the trigger. She's suffered enough. She can't have him here. When she hears his voice, she nearly jumps out of her skin. Nearly squeezes the trigger and fires off a shot.

"Always so quick to draw."

It cuts right through her. Rey inhales sharply through her nose. _So quick to draw,_ first on Takodana then again on Ahch-To when their minds first bridged. Can he blame her? If she could, she'd fire at him now, too.

Rey squints into the darkness.

His shape is unclear. The black of his hair and his robes make it even more difficult to find him in the dark, but she eventually does. He's standing down by the end of the bed with his back facing her. Like this, she can't see his face, can't see those eyes. It's better if she doesn't. Wherever he is, he feels—cold. She can sense that much. He's cold and he's lonely, and he isn't making any effort to conceal either of those things. Is she supposed to care? Rey's anger flares up again, white-hot. She didn't want this for him. She didn't want it for either of them. But it's too late now, isn't it? Her hands start to shake.

"I'm not going to hurt you." he says. He must've noticed it.

The imperceptible shake to her hands.

 _You already have,_ she thinks. It's too late. She won't lower Han's blaster, won't drop her guard. A long moment passes before she responds, words coming out firmer now, "I'm not afraid of you."

"No, you're not."

Even after everything, she isn't. Maybe she should be. Maybe he should be afraid of her.

Rey stands, rising to her full height. She didn't expect this to happen so soon after Snoke, after the battle, the loss. When he turns around, she imagines a streak of silver curling up from his jaw and stretching across his face. But it's healed now, the skin smooth where it once was puckered and red, the same place Han had touched before— _before._ Rey presses her lips into a thin line. She's already relived that memory enough, and doesn't want to do it again.

Something in his jaw twitches, as if he's heard her.

He won't look at her.

Back in the hut, when she had been cold and angry and aching with loneliness, his eyes never once strayed from hers. There had been something in his gaze that felt kind and warm. _You're not alone,_ he told her, and she had believed him. He refused to look away, his dark eyes fixed on hers. And for the first time, she let herself really look at him, let herself see him; the color of his eyes and the slant of his mouth and the spots on his skin, all the freckles she never noticed before. She felt less lonely in that moment. _You're not alone,_ he said. Now, he's looking anywhere except directly at her. Rey doesn't know what she's supposed to do with this, or with him.

There's only him. She can't make out his surroundings, which means he can't sense hers either. Rey exhales a tiny sigh of short-lived relief.

"Everyone else is," he says. "But not you."

"Can we just not—" she huffs out a sigh and lowers the blaster, but doesn't let go of it entirely. "I don't want this. I don't want to see you. I don't want to _ever_ —"

"This isn't me."

Rey's face scrunches up, displeased.

Of course it isn't him. Whatever this is, it's out of their control. Maybe they can influence when it begins and ends. Maybe not. All Rey knows is that this isn't Snoke's doing, not anymore. That thought settles uncomfortably in her stomach. It had been a trap, she sees that now. Maybe she had been foolish and naive and stupid to think that it would work, to believe she could be enough to sway him, bring him back to the light. But she had to at least try. Rey watches him where he stands in the middle of the room, so starkly out of place, and half turned towards her. Still not looking up.

It hurts, having him here, so close after being thrown apart. She has to end it. She's already done it once before, when she slammed the door shut on _the Falcon_ and somehow severed the connection.

Sensing her thoughts, or the displeasure rolling off her, Kylo says, "I didn't ask for this."

Of course not.

"Neither did I." she spits. "I don't want you here."

Her mind is drawn back to the vision she had—the dreams—she didn't ask for those. Perhaps they brought the bond to the front of her mind, making him impossible to shut out. Rey contemplates firing a shot. Her finger twitches over the trigger, tempted to see if it'll have any effect on him, unlike the last time. But she can't follow through with it.

"That's your greatest weakness."

She nearly rolls her eyes. "What now?"

"You let sentiment cloud your judgement. Once, you would've shot me. But now you hesitate."

"So you'd rather I shoot you?"

Kylo doesn't answer, his eyes flicking around a room he can't even see; he's still closed off to her, even now, even like this. Rey doesn't know why she expected it to go any differently.

"You were dreaming." he murmurs. "Before this, you were dreaming."

It's not a question.

Her cheeks are still wet with tears, and her head full of thoughts that are much too loud to keep all to herself. If she listens, if she reaches out just _so_ , she can feel his mind too. The chaotic buzz of his thoughts. Yes, she dreamt of Jakku and of him. He hasn't slept. Rey lifts her chin, refusing to look away, to hide. He's already seen her cry too many times before. He won't see her do it now. There's a look on his face—Rey doesn't try to pinpoint what it is. She doesn't care. He's finally looking at her now, his face partially obscured by the shadows.

Rey stubbornly holds his gaze. Her dreams belong to her, not him. He has no right to come here and pretend. Although she'd been so determined not to cry, she can feel her eyes stinging with unshed tears. It just makes her angrier, more resolved to put an end to this.

"No."

"I can feel it. You were—"

"No," she says, firmer this time. "No, we are _not_ doing this. Not after that. Not after you," she stops herself off, the words snaring in her throat.

"After what, Rey?"

The Rebel fleet, vulnerable and under attack, and Kylo had still wanted to wipe out every last one of them. Then on Crait, he had tried to shoot _the Falcon_ out of the sky, knowing she was aboard the ship. He wanted to destroy everything. He _still_ wants to, she can sense it now. That quiet rage simmering away under a relatively calm surface. She wonders if he ever gets tired of pretending.

"Before you turned against me, I felt it. The conflict rising in you. I wouldn't have hurt you," he says. "Yet you tried to kill me. Again. You wanted to, didn't you? I could see it in your eyes."

"I never wanted that." Rey says, shaking her head.

"No? Then what did you want?"

"I don't know."

"Mm. What did you think would happen?" he asks. Gently. _Gently,_ after everything he's done. It unsettles her. "Did you think I could join you? That your friends would defeat the Order? That you could save us?"

His words sting, more than Rey anticipated. More than she's willing to admit. But he knows that already, doesn't he? He has to know. As they stand before each other, closer than they had in Snoke's throne room, she can feel it; the pangs of loneliness so similar to her own, so sharp and terrible and familiar. Rey recoils from it, taking a step backwards as if to distance herself from the feeling.

"I thought you would join me," she admits. If she's being entirely honest with herself (which she seldom is lately) she knows it wouldn't work. Not when he doesn't want it to. Not when it's so doomed. "I hoped that we'd find a way to restore balance together. Peacefully. But you made your choice."

A long moment stretches out between them, nothing but silence and the quiet exhale of breath; Rey can feel the connection slipping from her fingers. A part of her wants to chase after it. Another part knows better. Before it fades, Kylo looks at her, _really_ looks at her for the first time since he appeared, and Rey's breath catches. He's struggling to keep his expression blank, she knows, he's always had to keep a leash on his emotions. But there's a flash of something so raw there, under the surface of it all, that he can't hide. Not even from her. Something that makes her ache.

"Yes, I did. And so did you."

Then he's gone and Rey's left staring at the spot where he stood, clutching limply at Han's blaster. She doesn't cry, even if she wants to.

* * *

 **A/N:** sooo after TLJ, Reylo just wouldn't leave me alone. I've fallen into the trash compacter and refuse to climb out. This fic will have a heavy focus on Rey and her constantly shifting relationship with Kylo. If that's not your thing, then this isn't the story you're looking for. 


	2. Chapter 2

She can't sleep after his visit. Of course she can't, not with his words bouncing around her skull: _yes, I did. And so did you._ Rey balls her hands into tight fists, frustrated that she didn't get the chance to answer him before the connection fizzled out. She didn't make a choice, no, that's not what that was. He forced her hand and made the choice for her. Huffing out a sigh, Rey sets Han's blaster down on the bed.

It's just like him to get the last word.

Lifting both hands to her face, she rubs at her temples, hoping to ease the tension gathering there. But it doesn't really help. She's tempted to crawl back into bed and tug the sheet up over her and sleep until something—or someone—wakes her. But she won't. She's probably slept for too long as it is. Not that she slept particularly well, or for very long. _No surprises there,_ she thinks, plopping down onto the thin mattress.

Rey realizes then that she has no idea how much time has passed since Crait. Hours, maybe, if that. _What if the Order is closing in on us,_ crosses her mind, and fear rises in her chest. They could be in danger and she's done nothing to prevent it.

But surely someone would've woken her if that was the case. Or, at the very least, she would have sensed a shift in Kylo. Instead all she had felt from him, when he stood before her in the blackness of her room, was a terrible sadness, so poorly hidden. If she reaches across the divide between them and brushes against the fringe of his thoughts, she knows she would be overwhelmed with that same sadness and quiet anger she'd felt on him earlier. Rey stifles her regrets, or any feelings she once might've held towards him, and fixes her attention elsewhere. She focuses on things she can immediately feel and fix, like the pangs of hunger clawing at her stomach. Her dry, itchy throat. Her chapped lips.

The taste of Jakku sand still thickly coats her tongue, and Rey swallows uncomfortably.

She'll have to do something about that hunger in a moment. First, she wants to rinse the taste of the desert out of her mouth. Reaching under the bunk, Rey rifles through one of her bags until her fingers close around a half-empty canteen. She unscrews the lid and brings it to her lips, surprisingly parched. She can tell by the weight of it in her hand, the water sloshing around, that there isn't much left. But it'll do for now. Rey swallows down a large mouthful of water.

Oh, it's _just_ like him to get the last word. She grips the canteen in her hands, blinking into the semi-darkness of the room in front of her, frustrated not just with him but with herself.

It wasn't like she asked him to be there.

The dreams had felt so real, tears prickled her eyes after, and her stomach felt hollow and strange. And he'd been there, of course, on the bridge with her on Starkiller. But it wasn't like Rey had wanted to dream of him. She didn't ask for the bond to connect them. It had almost soothed her, for a fraction of a second there, knowing she wasn't so alone. Then she remembered. Rey shakes her head, willing those thoughts away.

Running a thumb along the outside of the canteen, she takes a moment to piece herself together.

She feels useless when she isn't doing something with herself, trawling through rubbish or fixing things. That's what she's good at, it's what she knows. She'll keep her mind occupied, keep it from straying to him. This is all so new for her; fighting in a war isn't something Rey ever saw herself doing, but she'll adapt. For now, she'll help where she can, do what she's good at. Besides, her mind is quietest when her body is put to work. And there's something about worked, tired, aching muscles that helps her sleep easier.

Maybe it'll put an end to those nonsense dreams. She's certainly no stranger to bad dreams, but those visions were something else entirely. It reminds her of Takodana, of when she first held a lightsaber. That very same one that now sits at the bottom of a bag, snapped in half, a reminder of her failure.

A reminder of him.

Rey bites down on the inside of her mouth, struggling to grapple with the influx of thoughts and feelings crashing over her, like waves slapping against the rocks on Ahch-To, harsh and sudden and impossible to escape. _Violent._ Her thoughts are scrambling, images flitting through her mind. Rey exhales a heavy breath, the canteen in her hand momentarily forgotten. When she manages to bring herself back to the present, she gulps down more water; it's warm, but not unpleasantly so. Once she's finished, Rey screws the lid back on and stuffs it away, resolved to fill it with cool water later.

He's probably there right now, lingering at the edge of her mind. He's probably listening.

That same feeling rises in her chest. That strange, new, sudden ache. As if by leaving him, she's left something important behind. Inhaling slowly through her rose, and shutting her eyes, Rey imagines she's standing at the door of _the Falcon._ And he's there, kneeling below her. She seals off her mind, the door once again sliding shut between them.

It won't last.

It might not even work.

But she has to try.

She doesn't want to know what he's thinking—feeling—doesn't care what he wants. There's no way of knowing when the bond will kick back in, Rey knows. Maybe this will help. Maybe, by closing her mind off to him, she can buy herself a little time. She can have a moment of silence. A moment to breathe, without worrying that he's listening to her every thought. Even if it won't last, even if it's only a temporary solution and not a real fix, she's going to enjoy it while it lasts.

Rey gets to her feet and dresses swiftly, tugging her now dry clothes off the makeshift line she'd strung up earlier. She pulls a tunic on over her thin undershirt, then starts on her arm bandages. Her movements are quick, but precise. She's done this a thousand times before. It's a reflex, in a way. Muscle-memory. She could do it with her eyes closed. It's only once Rey starts working on her right arm that she hesitates.

Her thumb brushes over the cut there.

The image of a guard in red robes and armor flashes through Rey's mind. She had thought it impossible, at first, to fight them all off. But she'd found a way. They had, together. The cut doesn't hurt anymore. Well, at least not that much anyway. She can tell that it's going to scar from just looking at it. Rey doesn't mind, her skin is littered with scars, old and new and each with a story of their own. Letting her hand fall away, Rey goes back to working on the arm wrap, winding the fabric around slowly.

And if she pauses to adjust the wrap just so, just to cover that red gash on her arm, then that's between Rey and herself and no one else. After her belt and wrist cuff are in place, she pulls on her boots and heads out the door, unable to ignore that gnawing emptiness in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

Rey's not sure what to expect.

It's surely been hours since she was last awake, since she sat by Leia's side and wondered if they could find a way to fix it, to start again. Halfway to the main hold, a frazzled BB-8 appears. Rey's not sure what she thought she would find when she stepped out of her room, but it certainly wasn't this: the droid speeds down the corridor, zooming past her, emitting a high-pitched noise that sounds a lot like a terrified shriek. She didn't expect to wake to BB-8 screaming.

Frowning, Rey glances down the corridor after him, a bit curious about what's gotten the droid into such a mood. Then she turns and nearly walks right into Poe.

"You're awake," he beams, far more warm than she's used to. "We wanted to check in, but the General said to let you rest."

"We?"

"Me and Finn."

"Oh."

Her guilt returns when she thinks about Finn. She should've been the one checking in on him, not the other way around. The last time she saw him, he'd been badly injured, his back split open by Kylo Ren's lightsaber. He had been so cold in the snow. Now, he's alive and he's here and Rey hasn't given a moment to him. Not since their embrace on Crait. She's not really used to—well, hugging. To giving comfort through touch. But she could've stayed there, in Finn's arms, for hours. Days, even, if that were somehow possible.

She felt safe with him.

And now she feels wholly out of place. Rey frowns, eyebrows pinching together as she gestures after BB-8. "Why?" is all she can manage, but Poe seems to know what she's asking.

"He doesn't like them. The birds."

"Why not?"

"There was a whole thing," he waves his hand vaguely. "One of them sat on his head unit. He didn't appreciate that."

 _Right._ Luke's birds. Well, Chewie's birds now. Rey doesn't know how it happened, or why, but Chewie somehow managed to convince a small flock of the creatures to join them aboard the ship. For how long, Rey doesn't know. She's not sure she wants to.

"You lookin' for the General?"

"No," Rey says, with a shake of her head. "Something to eat, actually. Why? Should I be looking for her? Has something happened?"

Even as she asks, Rey knows that nothing's wrong. Nothing has changed or happened since she went for a rest. If something terrible had happened, she'd be able to feel that much from the man standing in front of her. But his mind is incredibly still and calm, soothing her own frayed thoughts.

Poe holds a hand up to her, a smile on his lips. "Easy there," he says. "She's just gettin' some shut-eye, that's all. Nothing's happened. The First Order won't find us here, we're safe."

She opens her mouth to ask: _and where exactly are we?_ But the question dies on her tongue. Her throat tightens at his words. Part of her almost wants to tell him he's wrong. That he's so very, very wrong. Kylo might not be able to sense her surroundings when the bond connects, but it won't always be that way. The Order can find them because he _is_ the Order. Rey smiles thinly at Poe. Whatever he's saying to her now doesn't quite reach her ears. She had been trying to not think about that, about Kylo and his new role and what that means for them. And now it's all been brought to the surface.

"Rey? Rey, you alright?"

"Sorry. I was just," she says, snapping back to the present. _Somewhere else._ "What were you saying?"

"Doesn't matter. Let's get you somethin' to eat."

"Where's Finn?"

"He asked me about you." Poe tells her. "Second he woke up, that was the first thought on his mind. He's—uh, he's still in the hold. Hasn't slept. Won't leave her side 'til she wakes." He—"

"Can we go see him instead?" Rey blurts out. Then feels a bit bad for cutting across him. "It's just I haven't really had a chance to see him since Crait. Sorry."

Poe falls into step beside her easily, headed for the main hold as well now. "Don't be. You know, I gotta say, I've heard a lot about you. And not just from Finn either," he says. "The General speaks highly of you. It's nice to finally talk to you. And that thing you did on Crait, with the rocks, _that_ was impressive."

"Oh." is all she can say at first.

The smile on her lips isn't as forced this time around, though she's still not all that good at _this,_ at talking to people outside the circle of scavengers she knew on Jakku, the traders who would sometimes pass through, and Unkar. That was about it for a very, very long time. Now she has Finn and BB-8, and a handful of Rebels.

And she doesn't know what to do with any of them, doesn't know how to be around them now that so much has changed.

"It's nice. Talking to you." she says. A beat passes before she adds, "How did you meet him?"

"Who, Finn? He helped me escape."

"From what?"

Poe's lip curls. "That thing in a mask."

 _Oh._

There's a denial on her lips, a furrow to her brow as she thinks, _he's not a thing. He has a name. He's not—_

Rey catches a glimpse of the memory: Kylo, stopping a blaster bolt mid-air. A burst of skull-splitting pain. Agony, filling Poe up from the inside. A creature in a mask. Poe's scream, sharp and guttural. As he reflects on it, Rey can't help but be drawn into it.

She recoils, as if she's been stung.

"Finn saved my life." he continues, unperturbed. When he talks about Finn, it's full of such warmth and fondness. "We stole a ship, crash-landed on Jakku, and the rest is history. He's good people."

Rey nods in agreement. She's never met anyone like Finn before. Even when they had nothing solid to grasp onto at the start of this whole thing, they had each other. Finn isn't just good people, he's _great._ Brave and kind and good, despite every bad thing that's ever happened to him. Rey thinks maybe Poe is the same. She hasn't known him for very long at all, and sure there were times on Jakku where she wasn't particularly good at reading people, but this is different. He's kind, she can feel it.

He glances at her, once or twice, that same faint smile still on his lips. There are smudges of dirt and grease all over him, so he hasn't bathed, likely hasn't slept either, and he's still so _sure_. So impossibly warm. Rey latches onto that warmth, for a second, letting it wash over her.

The main hold is much quieter than before, with Rebels scattered around in different corners and pockets of the ship. Rey steps further inside, eyes darting around the room. This is a time for rest, if only for a moment. Then it'll be time to push ahead, gather supplies and round up support, and strike a win after such a loss.

"It's not just about moving rocks, you know."

"Oh, I know." he's still smiling. Rey doesn't know how, after all they've lost. After all he's lost. He's far more tied to this than she is, but he isn't bitter or angry. She can feel a hint of regret there, at the fringe of his mind.

Rey pulls back abruptly. She won't look any further.

"That's just my favorite part." Poe adds.

For the first time in what feels like a long time, Rey finds herself genuinely smiling. Poe veers off to the small group gathered around the Dejarik table; not playing, just sitting on the half circular couch, likely plotting the next move. Rey casts a glance over the room again, over at Finn. He and the dark-haired girl ( _Rose,_ Rey reminds herself, her name is Rose) are right where Rey last saw them. She doesn't know why she's suddenly nervous to go over there.

She shouldn't be.

But Finn might want to know things. Things Rey isn't ready to share just yet. She'll tell him all about Ahch-To, if he wants to listen. And when he asks about Luke—and he will, he has to, because it's _Luke Skywalker_ —Rey doesn't know what she'll tell him. She's less certain of where to draw the line. She thinks of a green lightsaber and the face of a scared boy, of a decision not yet made and one made too quickly. Of Luke's regret, how it consumed him. His guilt. Rey had felt it, plucking at her insides, so sharp and hard to miss. She doesn't know what to say about any of that, if asked. Probably nothing. It's not her past, so she won't speak of it.

She doesn't want to lie, but how does she mention the part where she left the island for Ben Solo?

Left for a chance to bring him back.

It just wouldn't sound right, not to Finn. Not to any of them, Rey thinks. It's not something to be ashamed of. She isn't. Even if she had known how it would go between them, Rey's certain she would've done it all over again anyway. She doesn't regret any of it, even if Kylo does.

Rey swallows her nerves and goes to him. He's sitting on a crate with his back to the rest of the room, looking rather uncomfortable. Rey thinks about telling him to move, but knows he won't take a padded bed in the crew quarters or even a couch. He won't leave Rose's side, not until she's awake, and maybe not even then. His loyalty runs deep, she knows.

He's a good friend like that.

"Finn."

When he doesn't answer, she tries again. This time, she presses a hand to his shoulder. The lightest of touches that should grab his attention.

 _"Finn."_

He jolts upright, blinking rapidly. "Rey," he breathes. "Rey, you're awake! When did you—are you—I was going to check on you, but I couldn't. I had to stay, in case she woke up. I had to."

Rey can't help but think, _I left you._

When he was injured, unconscious just like Rose, she left him on D'Qar. It isn't the same, she knows. Last time, she had to find Master Luke. Someone had to. And maybe it had to be her. Definitely, she tells herself. Rey shakes her head, a faint smile on her lips. Of course he had to stay with Rose, and Rey doesn't hold that against him when it's so clear that Rose needs him far more than she does.

"I'm glad you're here. She needs you."

"She saved my life, Rey."

"Good." she says. "Because I don't know—"

Her voice catches slightly, stuck in her throat.

She doesn't need to ask him what happened. She knows. If she tries, she can picture it: Finn, in his rusty ski speeder, rushing towards a cannon. Determined. Alone. She heard them talking about it as _the Falcon_ sped away from Crait. She's almost lost him twice now. She won't risk losing him again.

It's ridiculous, she knows. And probably a bit foolish, thinking she can keep him safe when there's so much risk in just being here. Back on Jakku, the Graveyard was full of bodies and skeletons in the sand. She didn't fight in that war, but it was still a part of her. There was a man once, too, that she found dead in his TIE fighter ejector seat. She can't imagine that happening to Finn. To any of them. She'll do whatever she can to protect Finn, for as long as she can. So would Rose. That makes Rey like her without even knowing her.

Finn's face has twisted into something much more serious when Rey next looks at him. Rey smiles (it's a brief thing, she knows, a small thing, but she tries) and that seems to put him a little more at ease.

"Someone had to."

"What's that?" Finn asks.

"Someone had to save you." Rey says. "Since you're always getting yourself into trouble."

"Oh, is that what I'm doing?"

Rey nods fervently. "All the time."

"Me?"

"Yes. Very much."

His mouth pulls up at the corner, most of the tension gone from his body now. Rey looks to Rose, looks at the scrapes and bruises on her skin, delves a little deeper. There's nothing but darkness, but it's calm. Solid and firm, and almost soft. Rey pulls away, taking a step back from them both. Finn adjusts the corner of the blanket, smoothing out some non-existent creases.

"She just needs time. She'll wake." Rey encourages.

Finn's eyes widen. "Soon?"

"I can't be sure."

"Doesn't matter how long. I'll wait."

BB-8 rolls into the hold abruptly, just as high-pitched and aggravated as before. A stray Porg is quick to waddle in after him, wide-eyed and blinking sadly. _Sadly._ Rey's never seen a creature that could make blinking look sad before.

"Droid, _please._ " Finn shushes.

* * *

Food for one. A house for one. These are things Rey has gotten used to over the years. One, not two. Not several. She sits in the galley, alone, and picks at the rations on her plate. She'd sworn off packet stuff once she left Jakku, but it's not like there's much of a choice.

There is a _lot_ of food, more than Rey had expected.

She still feels strange about taking too much.

Living off Unkar's packet rations for so long makes any other kinds of food taste new and strange, but not in entirely bad ways. She survived on meat and bread for years, the same meal each night, doubting that it tasted anywhere near as good as the real thing but having no other choice but to eat it. She always ate it, never let a single crumb go to waste, not when she spent her days trawling through trash heaps to buy herself a meal. The plate was always empty, at the end of the night, and often licked clean. Still, her ribs stick out in places; if she flattens a hand against her side, she can feel some poking into her fingertips.

Rey eats quickly, unable to pace herself.

There's still a part of her that remembers too vividly her old life on Jakku. The fear she'd had as a child when she was still learning how to scavenge properly, scared that someone would try to take what was hers.

And they did try.

She had Unkar's thugs protecting her, for a little while. Not out of generosity, no, it never was. Rey slows a little, stopping to drink from her glass of water. After she'd taught herself how to fight, how to use her quarterstaff to defend herself, they bothered her less and less. But that instinct is still there, even now. That need to protect what's _hers._

This place is hers.

These friends are hers.

He almost was.

Rey swivels around on the stool, taking in the details of the galley; grey walls, grey floor, two padded alcoves, and a caf dispenser sitting on the counter in front of her. Rey's wary to try it. She's had one before, but it was grainy and sour, and left a distinctively bitter taste in her mouth. She goes back to her meal, tearing the wrapper on a ration bar open with her teeth.

The food on the island had been something else entirely: fruits and nuts, and fresh meat, not something that came out of a packet. _Fish._ She'd never had fish before the island. Rey vividly remembers that first bite.

Master Luke had encouraged her to go back for a second helping. That was a first. Back on Jakku, when she first started scavenging, she would go days living on the same portion. Eating it, bit by bit, the scraps she'd found in the junkyard weren't yet enough to purchase more. It had seemed so strange to her, at first. A second helping.

Rey chomps down on her ration bar, quietly longing for the fish on Ahch-To, but still grateful to have food in her belly. She's still chewing when he appears.

Like always, she hears him before she sees him.

"Where are you?"

Rey gives him a look. "I'm not telling you that."

"I wouldn't expect you to."

"Then why ask?"

He doesn't have an answer to that. _Another first,_ Rey thinks, swallowing a large mouthful of water down.

"I can't see your surroundings."

Not that it matters, but she can't see his either, hasn't been able to since Crait. When he'd stood in the middle of her room, all she saw from his side of the bond was darkness, the faint glow of a light overhead but nothing else, barely able to make his features out in the dull light. Still, she'd seen enough.

"Good." she keeps chewing.

"Can you see mine?"

Rey begrudgingly looks over at him. He's sitting down, just like her. Somewhere dark. She wonders if he's slept since they last spoke, but she can tell that he hasn't. His energy feels twitchy. Restless. And tired, a bone-deep exhaustion radiating off him. He probably hasn't even moved.

And Rey can't fault him for that, not when there's still a small, tired part of her aching to sit in the stillness and quiet of her bedroom.

His words echo through her mind, the same ones from that first time their minds were bridged: _just you._ Kylo's eyes are on her, watching in that way of his: intense, dark, knowing. Except he doesn't know anything, does he? Rey forces herself to look away, down at the ration bar in her hand instead of at him. That's where all the trouble starts, really, whenever she looks at him.

"No. I can't see where you are."

"Why do you think that is?" he asks, curious.

"I don't care."

"You do."

Rey's fist closes around the bar, the wrapper crunching in her hand. "You're wrong." she grinds out.

"No, I don't think I am."

"You wouldn't."

It's harsher than she means it, said with a snarl on her lips, but she's furious. With him, with herself, with how it all ended between them. She doesn't know how not to be angry. Uncurling her fist, she bites off another chunk of the ration bar; it's hard, doesn't really taste like anything, but it'll do. All she needs is a little bit more food to fill that ache in the pit of her stomach. She's hungry and tired and sore, and she really doesn't care about the bond or why it isn't working like it did before. It doesn't bother her, not like it bothers him.

And it _does_ bother him, she can sense that much on him. If she were to look up, she would be able to see it, too, written all over his face.

She's got her walls up, refusing to let him in, she won't let him get close. Maybe that's why they can only see each other, giving nothing else away.

This way, she's not putting anyone at risk. He won't be able to find any of them if he can't see where she is. If she's trying to keep him out, maybe he's doing the same? Blocking her out, keeping her at arms length, just to be sure. She can't exploit the bond, can't know things she's not supposed to know and use them against the Order, if he won't let her in. Maybe he is blocking her out. He'd be smart to.

But that doesn't seem likely, not when the bond is such a curious thing to him.

Rey's mid-chew when he next speaks.

"It's not the bond I find curious. It's you."

 _Get out of my head,_ she thinks.

"I can't."

"Yes, you can." she glares at him. "You just don't want to leave. I'm not in your head. The least you can do is get out of mine."

"You can still feel it though, can't you?"

Loneliness.

Rage.

Confusion.

It ebbs and flows, but she can feel it all, his thoughts and feelings laid bare before her. Sharp, clear, cold. _Sad._ He's disappointed. That makes two of them. Her eyes dart to his, narrowing in on his face.

Rey can feel it. She can feel everything.

His feelings might as well be her feelings. They are hers, in a way, just different. Quieter, underneath the thrum of her own thoughts, the chaos of her own mind. Rey looks away, but not fully. She falters, looking down at his mouth.

It's not like her mind is exactly calm either. Her thoughts are frazzled and cloudy, pinging around her brain far too quickly to latch onto. It's messy, a sharp contrast to the stillness of her mind on Ahch-To. She found something solid there, found herself a rock to cling to in this sea of uncertainty. Now, she finds herself at a loss and drained of patience, wanting to be both alone and not alone all at once. She doesn't know how she's supposed to feel.

Rey only realizes that he's talking because his lips start moving.

"I feel you there, even now. Just because you're trying not to listen doesn't mean you're not in there."

"Your head is the last place I want to be." she insists.

Kylo's mouth twitches at the corners.

Not amusement, no, but something else. The emotion is too fleeting, Rey can't pin it down. She doesn't want to. It's only when she really looks at him, looks at the slump of his shoulders, the circles under his eyes, the dark strands of hair hanging in his face, that she almost wishes she couldn't see him at all. Or that there was something else to look at. He's a distraction, and Rey can't allow herself another one of those.

"Why do you think it's gone?"

"What?" she frowns.

"Our surroundings. I could see yours before as if they were my own," his eyes dart around, curious to see if anything has changed. "Now there's nothing. It's gone."

 _Good._ Rey eyes off the door to the galley, a noise outside drawing her attention. But nothing comes of it; no Poe, no footsteps in the hall, no screeching droid. It would be impossible to explain this, even to someone as kind and understanding as Finn.

"I don't care why it's gone. I won't let you back in."

He makes a low noise in the back of his throat, so quiet she almost misses it. "You don't trust me."

"Why should I? You tried to shoot me out of the _sky,_ " she says, and her voice cracks on the word. "You would've killed me. You would've killed them all."

"And you would've killed me."

"That's not true."

Kylo's memory flashes through her mind: it's fractured and short, barely a glimpse of what really happened. It's her. A hand shooting out for the lightsaber, teeth gritted, eyes glossy with unshed tears. And after, a flash of hurt, betrayal, a rush of anger. Rey visibly recoils from it, the memory too strong for her, she doesn't want to relive it.

 _You took it from me._

"Your lightsaber?" her face crinkles in confusion. "It's not yours. And I didn't intend to use it."

"No?" he rises in one swift movement, much taller than he had been a second ago. He's both here and not here, in a dark room and in the galley with her. Kylo towers over where she sits at the narrow corner table picking idly at food she no longer has an appetite for. "Then why take it from me?"

"Because it's mine." she tries, but it sounds weak, even to her. "Because it was given to—"

"That's not why."

Of course it isn't. They both know the truth, even if they pretend not to, even if they deny it, feign confusion and lie to themselves, to each other. _Because I had to go,_ she thinks, _because you would've tried to stop me. I had to arm myself._

Because of his temper.

Her eyes flick to his face, awaiting a response. If he's still listening, which Rey's willing to bet he is, then he's heard her. He knows why. They both do.

 _You had to arm yourself against me,_ he replies. _You. The one who always shoots first._

"That has nothing to do with it." Rey argues.

If she had her staff, she might strike him with it. Han's blaster is still sitting on the end of her cot, not that she's willing to pick it up and use it. Not even on Kylo Ren. She won't punch a hole through his ship—it's not just hers, it's Chewie's, all of theirs—just to show him how angry she is. She's certain she doesn't need to show him anything, her anger quieter than before but still there, always there. Even if he felt the bolt, Rey doesn't want to hurt him. So what if she always shoots first, if she's ready for a fight? That's the only way she's ever known.

Sighing, Rey sets her ration bar aside, picking up a bread roll instead just to have something to hold onto. It's firm yet soft underneath her fingers. She turns the roll over slowly in her hands. Kylo should be glad he's not actually here with her, not physically.

Because if he was, she'd throw the roll at him. She'd aim it right at his head.

When he steps closer, Rey swivels around on her chair so she's only half turned towards him. He's here and not here, she reminds herself, knowing that his shape won't be solid like it was on Ahch-To. She can see him, but she can't touch him, her fingers would pass through him.

Not that she wants to touch him.

Rey's hand is still limply holding onto her bread roll. She pulls her hand back then, stung by the memory of his skin on hers. He notices.

"You're surrounded," he says. His gaze sweeps over her, considering. Once, she might've shrunk away from him. Not today. "And yet you choose to be alone."

"We have that in common."

The insults come to her lips so easily now—liar, monster, murderous snake—but instead of using one, she huffs out a sigh and tears a piece of bread apart with her hands, nimble fingers making quick work of it. She pops a piece into her mouth, chewing slowly. The rest of the ration bar remains untouched for now, set aside on her tray with only the top bitten off it.

"I don't want to do this anymore." Rey says quietly. The bond is frayed. It's not like it was before, and there's no getting around that.

There's no pretending.

"It's not like we have a choice."

 _We_. Rey bristles slightly, thought she's not entirely sure why. It's the way he says it. The way he emphasizes the word, his tone slightly mocking, perhaps making fun of the way she used it earlier. _We have that in common,_ she'd spat at him. Though that's not really true, is it? Rey picks up another sliver of bread.

His eyes flick down, lingering on the gash she tried to cover with her arm wraps. The top of the cut curves out from under the fabric, a glimpse of red barely visible, but he knows. He knows what's under there. Rey tugs the wrap up—it must've slipped down—and goes back to her bread. Kylo's still looking at the spot on her arm, transfixed. He's still thinking of a Praetorian guard and flashes of crimson.

"I should've—"

Rey waits, but he never finishes that thought.

Disappointment unfurls inside her, crawling over her like a shiver. She feels colder now than she did on the island, rain-soaked and dripping wet from the cave.

"What do you want?" she asks.

He presses his lips together tightly, looking away from her arm and meeting her eyes instead.

"Nothing."

 _I don't believe you,_ she thinks.

Something twitches in his face, under his left eye. Softly, so softly, his words ease into her mind: _I know._

And Rey would almost prefer him yelling at her ( _you're still holding on, let go_ ) to this, to something quiet and kind and soft. She drops the bread roll onto the plate and hops down off her chair, crossing the room without a word. It's too much. She hopes he won't follow, doesn't want him close, no, he'll stoke that conflict she can feel rising inside her.

It's his fault. The bond wasn't created by Snoke, it was Kylo's doing. Rey thinks of the interrogation room, the place where this all began when he first plunged into her mind and she slipped into his. _He_ sparked these feelings and brought them into the light.

From there, the bond festered and grew into something else entirely. And now it's out of their control, stronger than she imagined it ever could be. It had felt beautiful, before, on the island. A moment of comfort, of peace. His loneliness and anger swells inside Rey now, mingling with her own. It's hard to tell where his emotions end and hers begin, everything is so tangled.

Rey stops in her tracks, halfway down the corridor to her room, when she feels it slip away from her. She blinks slowly, as if waking from a dream. Her senses return to her fully and she's no longer swept up in him or lost to the intensity of the bond.

The connection is gone, taking Kylo with it. She should feel relief, she knows, but instead there's only regret. It puzzles her. _Regret._ His or hers, she isn't sure.

Either way, it shouldn't matter. It doesn't. This isn't a time for regret, or to wonder. Rey takes a moment to breathe, to pull herself together. Glancing back over her shoulder down the empty corridor, Rey doesn't know which way to go: back to her room or forward to the main hold. There's so much ahead, waiting for her, there's Finn and Chewie and a frazzled BB-8. But she can't deny the tug she feels to sit in the quiet and dark, to be alone.

 _Kill him,_ a voice had whispered to her once, back in the forest. It had been tempting and dark, but it had been easy. When she reached for the lightsaber, there was no voice. She didn't intend to kill him, but instinct kicked in and told her to defend herself.

He would've let them all die. And Rey had to stop that, she had to save him, she's lost so much already. She couldn't lose them. There was no other choice. She had to leave him.

Rey closes her eyes, the memory coming to her easily, all she has to do is reach for it:

A gloved hand is stretched out towards her, beckoning, pleading with her. Rey's hand is steady when she lifts it, even if the rest of her feels ready to collapse.

His lip quivers.

"Please."

It's too late. She throws her hand out for the lightsaber, but it won't come, stuck between them. Rey's eyes sting, and her heart aches, torn between him and what she knows is right.

She can't do this.

Neither can he.

Then comes the blast, splitting them apart, sending them both sprawling. Blackness fills her vision, for a time, then she's waking, a dull ache in her head. The impact of the blast makes her vision blurry. Once it clears, once she sees his shape and the slump of his body across from hers, Rey climbs to her feet.

The alarms are still blaring. The debris is still littered all around them, the ground unstable and trembling under her. Nothing has changed. Nothing is the same.

Rey goes to him. She drops to her knees, wanting to touch him, to make sure he isn't badly hurt. She brings a hand to his face, hovering inches above his skin, and imagines that she touches him. That she comforts him, holds him until he wakes, stays with him until he does.

But she's gone long before he stirs, boarding an escape craft with the pieces of Luke's cracked lightsaber in her hands, one word so clear in her mind.

 _Please._

Rey snaps out of the memory with a gasp.

When she sees his face, even in a dream, in a memory, there's always betrayal flashing dark in his eyes. She doesn't understand. Rey tries not to wonder what might have happened if she offered her hand before he did, or if he'd joined her.

But she remembers what he said, _did you think I could join you?_ Once, yes. Maybe a small part of her even now still hopes for that, but it's an impossible hope, Rey sees that clearly. His choice has been made.

There's no point in wondering.

* * *

 **A/N:** wow thank you for all of the favs, follows and reviews! I like to call this chapter Star Wars: The Last Word. Kylo: 2, Rey: 0. So things might seem a bit slow at the moment, but I felt like they needed to ease back into talking. Crait was kind of a big deal. Also this is just my interpretation of their Force-bond, I'm not an expert ;-D


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